


the purest form of love there is

by lindamë (thelastdrumbeat)



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Cluster Feels, Drabble, Overthinking, Short enough to be a drabble anyway welp, fluid gender identity, so heres an attempt to get my head straight abt it, the nature of the cluster kind of confuses me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 00:10:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5686975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelastdrumbeat/pseuds/lindam%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riley, sat by herself, muses over the nature of her relationship with Will in regards to their cluster. But she's never truly by herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the purest form of love there is

_Love within a cluster is pathological._

Yes, Riley can see that. If they are all one person, then loving yourself, kissing yourself, even though that facet of You is in a different body….. yes, it makes sense. Narcissism of the highest degree.

But sometimes it seems as though she can’t help herself, as though love like this, between her and Will, Wolfgang and Kala, between all of them, is inevitable. They are connected in every way. The everpresent hum and flow of energy, not quite audible in a physical sense but in the way that it is a _sense_ , back and forth, ties them all closer together with every heartbeat. 

She thinks of the way it feels when they slip into each other’s heads, sliding into the veins and muscles of a body that should be unfamiliar. How it feels safe, warm, enclosed in love, familiarity. Like home. She thinks of the little pings they send down the link- _are you there? Always._ They become thoughtless, automatic, even taken for granted. It allows them to become a cohesive unit to such a level that their very bones rejoice in each other’s presence. To blend together so that bones mean nothing- just the intangible rush of their energies against each other, twining together so that she can no longer tell the difference between her little piece of self, and the burgeoning, glowing Whole. _I am also a We._

How can you not love someone who you know so well and so deeply? And surely it's impossible to not love someone who loves and knows you just the same? Isn’t it what everyone wants- to be loved and known on this level? To never have to be alone again? 

In some corner of her brain, Riley watches Wolfgang kiss Kala, and thinks of narcissism. She is Wolfgang ( _He is Riley_ ), and she is Kala ( _Kala is her_ ), and she is kissing herself. Yes. She can see that. She can see, also, how that applies to the relationship between her and Will. The thought sends a bolt of disgust through her, and immediately, she feels a little wave of alarm break against her mind. 

_Riley, you really should stop overthinking._ Lito says, and the link broadens and flares with activity. Between one blink and another, the Mexican is there with her, sitting on the bench beside her. Wordlessly, their thoughts brush against each other like cats in greeting.

“I’m not overthinking,” she lies, out loud. But it’s useless. She can feel Lito feeling her emotions, like looking at herself through a coloured lense. Riley can feel her own stress and self-disgust lap against Lito’s assured calm. 

Lito gives an amused huff, and even though he’s not there, not really, the movement jostles her frame. 

“Think about it this way. You think of yourself as Riley Blue, right?” (Neither of them say it –Gunnarsdóttir- but it hangs there.) “You have an identity apart from the whole, to call your own. You’re not Bak Sun, or Nomi Marks. You, and I mean you, are Riley.” Lito pushes at her shoulder in punctuation, this time on purpose, and gentler. This time she pushes back, although there’s no heat to it. “Hernando would say we are like eight petals of the same flower.” 

He spreads his hands out, heels together, thumbs tucked in, and glances up to check that she’s watching. His broad, flat hands form a symmetrical shape, four fingers on each side making the petals. “Just because all the petals are in the same flower, it doesn’t mean they’re all the same as eachother. Look, this one has a little scar on it. This one is a slightly different colour. This one is a little bit smaller.” He wiggles his left index finger, his right middle finger, and his right little finger respectively. “Try to remember the fact that you have thoughts and wishes separate from the whole. I don’t think just because we’re all connected now, Will suddenly wants to be an actor, or Capheus wants to go to the temple and leave offerings for Ganesh. Anything like that that we might experience, it’s just leftovers, you know? It passes. It’s because of the link." He stops to breathe, and study her face, and continue on. 

"The link doesn’t mean that Kala is suddenly very violent and wants to take up kickboxing and start shooting people. She’s not that kind of person, it wouldn’t fit her. And that’s the point, you know? We all have our own separate personalities and identities. Maybe further down the line, that might change, but I’m not sure it will. And if it does, we’ll all deal with it. We’ll support eachother like we’re supposed to, like we always have. But that hasn’t happened yet. You’re not about to suddenly get absorbed into one- one- oh, great big bizarre eight-person hybrid monster.”

Riley lets out a startled laugh at the imagery sent down the link from Lito, who lets out an exaggerated breath, and Riley feels him think _I think that’s the most I’ve ever spoken to her in one go_ like the chime of a bell. Satisfaction and relief echo in the aftertones. He knows he’s convinced her.

They sit there, watching the sea, for a few more minutes in silent companionship. Riley tries to fill her brain with the crash of waves on rocks, the hissing of the tide as the ocean breathes in and out. She does not let herself think of Will, practically comatose, dreaming shapeless, dim dreams in a corner of their shared awareness, soft and fragmented. Absently, she acknowledges the desire to smoke something. Lito thinks about how he can feel the cold Icelandic air at the same time as he can feel the humid heat of the city, smell salt and enchiladas frying at once. His wonders if Hernando would be proud of his speech. He likes to think he would be. For once, it didn’t come from a movie. 

“You know, Angelica thought that love within a cluster is the purest form of love there is,” Lito comments, very quietly. It’s almost lost in the crashing of the sea. 

Riley doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to.

_Pure or pathological?_

The waves below dance and hiss. Clouds boil over the horizon, but here, it is heatlessly sunny. Light sparkles off the crest of the waves as they break themselves on the rocks. High up, somewhere, there is the thin and reedy cry of a circling gull. A fishing boat with a red sail makes its way slowly towards harbour.

_The purest form of love there is._

**Author's Note:**

> soo, hopefully everything came across right. please let me know what u thought! concrit and reviews are solid gold. the longer the better <3


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